


Unraveling the Roundabout

by RubyDragonQueen



Category: Tokyo Ghoul, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Coffee Shops, Fluff, Gen, Ghouls, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 1: Phantom Blood, Queerplatonic Relationships, Vomiting, Whump, and that is a promise, but it will get better, mostly cause I cant write romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:40:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27191873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyDragonQueen/pseuds/RubyDragonQueen
Summary: Jonathan had no idea what was going on-What was he going to do? He'd been turned into a monster, Dio was undoubtedly scheming something, and he couldn't even hide long enough to figure it out because Speedwagon was picking the lock to his apartment.It really, really, couldn't get much worse.(I tried to put in enough explanation that the fic will make sense even if you haven't seen Tokyo Ghoul)
Relationships: Erina Pendleton Joestar & Jonathan Joestar & Robert Edward O. Speedwagon, Erina Pendleton Joestar & Robert Edward O. Speedwagon, Jonathan Joestar & Erina Pendleton Joestar, Jonathan Joestar & Robert Edward O. Speedwagon
Comments: 29
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try to provide more specific TWs each chapter when relevant- feel free to message me or add a comment if you think I missed something important.  
> Also, thanks to the RWCW discord for helping inspire and motivate me, and more specifically to Fugos_Requiem for helping me with the title.  
> ^v^

Five more minutes of class and Jonathan was free to go. 

The professor was talking a mile a minute with no sign of stopping, even as other students were already starting to pack up their bags. 

Jonathan tried to take notes on the last little bit of the lecture as time ran down, as much as he wanted to be packing up and heading out already. 

Soon enough, the professor finally noticed that it was time to go, and Jonathan hurried to get packed up. 

Thursdays were always the best day out of the week for Jonathan. On Thursdays, he and Speedwagon had a break between classes at the same time that was long enough for them to go get lunch off campus together.

He checked his phone as he set out, he’d gotten a text from Speedwagon.

‘Class got out early, heading to Bread Zeppelin, see you there?’

Jonathan shot back ‘on my way’, slipped on his headphones, and walked off campus into the city.

Bread Zeppelin was a local favorite- a sandwich restaurant on the edge of campus that was almost always overrun with college students.

Jonathan slid into the restaurant. The place always felt calming- the entire interior decorated in dark earth tones, and there was a homey feel to the mismatched chairs and tables undoubtedly picked up from numerous lawn sales. 

Looking around, he could see Speedwagon had already claimed a table. 

Speedwagon waved to him, “Jonathan! You’re finally here!” 

Jonathan smiled at Speedwagon. “A pleasure to see you Robert. Have you ordered yet?”

Speedwagon looked sheepish. “Nah, planning to just get something when I got back to dorms. College ain’t cheap after all.”

Jonathan looked crestfallen for a second. “You don’t have to come out here with me every week if it’s too expensive,”

“Nah, nah, I just like getting to be here with you, don’t worry!”

“I’ll order something for the both of us then!”

“No-”

“I insist-”

They both broke out laughing as they spoke over each other.

“Really Robert, it’s no struggle. Father gives me more allowance than I really know what to do with, and it makes me happy to get something for you.”

Speedwagon sighed, smiling. “Yeah yeah. Don’t go getting anything too expensive for me, ya hear?”

Jonathan chuckles. “This place almost exclusively caters to college students, I doubt they have anything that expensive.”

He ordered a grilled cheese with tomato for Speedwagon, two roast beef sandwiches for himself, and a basket of fries for both of them to share.

Really, this was the best part of the week, getting to hang out here with Speedwagon. He’d met him after they’d gotten into a brawl during orientation week, and the two had been fast friends ever since despite their wildly different backgrounds.

Before long, Jonathan was fully engrossed in some story Speedwagon was telling him from his childhood. “So you’d think someone would respond to being pickpocketed by a kid by either yanking their wallet back or taking pity. Not this bloke, he took one look at me with my hand in his pocket, grabbed his wallet, and threw it across the bloody road, screaming ‘Street smarts!’”

As Jonathan was chuckling, he saw Speedwagon suddenly look behind him.

A heavily accented italian voice called out through the restaurant. “Ah, Joestar! Speedwagon! Nice to see you two getting along after the incident orientation week.”

Jonathan turned back to look. “A pleasure to see you too Zeppeli!” 

Zeppeli turned to Speedwagon. “William Zeppeli. You can both call me William. Third year Ghoul Studies grad student. I was guiding Jonathan’s group during orientation week.”

“Uh. I’m Robert E. O. Speedwagon. Second year.” He paused. “Still undecided. Thinking of business.”

William pulled a chair over to sit with the two of them. “Class been going well for both of you?”

Jonathan nodded, Speedwagon shrugged. “What ‘bout you?” Speedwagon asked.

“Well enough. Tonpetty has been helping me start to plan my thesis project.”

“What about?” Jonathan asked. “I don’t think you ever got around to mentioning it during orientation week.”

“Ah, well. How much do you two know about ghouls?”

“Not much.” Jonathan responded.

“Rumors, mostly.” Speedwagon added.

“Well. To start with the very basics, ghouls are a near-human species only capable of surviving on human flesh. They’re far stronger than humans, have vastly heightened senses, and have a remarkable capability to heal.”

“I’ve been studying the organ that ghouls posses for hunting purposes- the Kakuho, from which emerges the kagune, powerful… extra limbs, so to speak, which make them exceptionally deadly opponents.”

William tapped his fingers on the table.

“More specifically, myself, Tonpetty, and a few others have been exploring the effects of a… special art, known as Hamon, on ghouls. Their kagune conduct the energy directly to their vital organs, making it especially deadly to them.”

“Enough about myself though.” William said, grabbing a fry and shaking some pepper on it. “How have you two been?”

The three had to part ways not too long after- William had a lot of work to get done, Speedwagon had another class, and Jonathan had to get his own homework done before football practice that evening.

Jonathan had initially been extremely nervous about joining the college football team- what if he wasn’t good enough, what if he couldn’t keep up, what if everyone recognized how much better than him Dio was just like back home, what if what if what if. 

His fears had been far from justified however, and he and Dio were quickly both brought onto the main roster- Dio was a tight end on the starting lineup, and Jonathan had been taken onto the offensive guard.

They ran through drills all evening. Dio continually outpaced him during laps- no surprise there. Frankly, Jonathan felt much better once they finally split off into different drills and he didn’t have to worry about comparing himself to Dio.

Instead, Jonathan found himself admiring the skill of the starting center- a massive hulk of a man named Tarkus. Jonathan himself wasn’t small himself by any means, but Tarkus still demolished him whenever they were paired against each other to practice their tackles.

Jonathan packed his bag up after practice, tucking his practice outfit away when he heard someone clearing their throat behind him.

“Joestar.”

Jonathan turned around to Tarkus standing over him somewhat awkwardly. “Ah! What is it Tarkus?”

“I’ve found a cool location for strength training, a ways away from campus. Want to come check it out?”

“Of course! Do you want to grab dinner beforehand or…”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Tarkus smiled. “I’ll get something over there. Be sure to show you too.”

“Lead the way then!”

“...Tarkus, are you quite sure you’re going the right way? This isn’t… the nicest area of town.”

Abandoned buildings loomed over them, a twisted tangle of crumbling concrete and rusted rebar. Broken plywood lay about in a few places, and a faint smell of iron drifted through the air.

“Don’t worry. We’re almost there. It’s a cool place. I go here to train and eat all the time.”

“Eat at the construction site? Did you bring anything?”

Tarkus laughed. “Yeah, sure did. Don’t worry.”

Jonathan was starting to get worried- it felt like something was off, Tarkus’s laughs seemed more mocking than anything. Didn’t Tarkus imply that they were going to be able to get dinner somewhere nearby? Perhaps he had misheard, but it still felt like something was wrong, somehow.

He hoped it really wasn’t anything more than Tarkus just being naturally intimidating- he’d heard some pretty brutal stories about freshmen getting hazed on college sports teams. (If it was about being on the sports team, would Dio be alright?)

Before Jonathan could worry himself too much, they’d arrived at the construction site.

The place had clearly been abandoned for a while, the concrete looked weathered and damaged, I-beams had been arranged into places to sit and put stuff. A few almost comically huge weights were sitting around.

“How- There’s no way a human could actually lift these…” Jonathan leaned a little closer to the weights. He looked around the area a little more carefully- faint spatters of dried blood could be seen scattered against the concrete.

A menacing chuckle echoed from behind him.

Jonathan whirled around-

Tarkus was standing over him. His eyes had changed, blood red with black sclera. A kagune erupted from just below his shoulders, coiling around his right arm before twisting forward into a sharp blade.

“I can’t believe how easy it was to get you over here.” Tarkus stepped forward slowly. “Let’s see if you can put up a fight.”

Jonathan leapt backwards, the sword-like kagune smashing through the concrete where he’d stood a second before.

Tarkus didn’t hesitate to press the attack. Jonathan just kept jumping backwards, as the sword arm smashed through concrete, twisted iron, mangled asphalt.

His back hit a wall.

He twisted to the side as the blade came down-

It caught the side of his arm, pain bursting forth, blood spilling out onto the concrete.

Jonathan ducked under another swipe, and dove forward. He threw all his weight into the tackle, slamming into Tarkus’s shins.

Tarkus fell forward, and Jonathan rolled to his feet and kept going, running as fast as he could.

They were far away from anywhere where someone might hear him, he’d lost his phone in the scuffle, and there was no way he could outrun the ghoul for long- he had to take down Tarkus or die trying.

Something hit his legs, knocking him onto the ground. Jonathan twisted around to see Tarkus slowly striding forward, blood coating the edge of his sword and dripping off of it.

He could feel blood running down his calves, flowing out of his arm, staining the concrete a brilliant crimson. (It hurt so much, there was so much blood-) The world swam faintly around him. (Oh god, he was going to die-)

“Thought you’d have a little more fight in you.” Tarkus chuckled.

Renewed determination thrummed through Jonathan’s veins. He had to keep going, had to find a way to stop Tarkus before he could attack anyone else.

He pushed himself to his feet, Tarkus waiting just long enough to make it clear- he was playing with Jonathan. Toying with him. (He was going to die here, die slowly, in agony-)

Jonathan needed to get away for a few seconds, needed enough space to figure something out.

He glanced backwards- a solid concrete wall, with rebar reinforcements sticking out to the edges.

“Tarkus!” Jonathan called out, pushing past the pain in his legs and arm best he could. He stood straight, chin up, shoulders back. “Face me with everything you’ve got!”

“Oh ho, you’re gonna regret that.” Tarkus grinned, breaking into a sprint, kagune held in front of him.

He dove aside, the air from the force of Tarkus’s charge surging over him, a reminder that the smallest misstep could get him killed.

A thud echoed through the site.

Tarkus’ kagune was rammed into the wall, firmly stuck into the concrete. Jonathan didn’t take a second to look back, sprinting deeper into the abandoned site.

There was no way he could kill Tarkus with his hands, he had no weapons- He had to find something else.

He heard the cracking of concrete as he ran, pain starting to slip past the adrenaline. (More blood, more blood, a trail of crimson across the ground, everything felt wrong-)

Just as he heard a howl of fury from where he left Tarkus, he spotted it-

A pallet of I-beams, precariously suspended from a slowly twisting set of ropes, all hooked to a rusted pulley on the ground.

He just had to make it there. He just had to make it there.

Tarkus’ footsteps echoed behind him. No time to look back.

Closer, closer, the footsteps growing louder and louder until they were like thunder.

A blur of movement out of the corner of his eye-

He dove forward, Tarkus’s kagune catching his leg again, splitting the muscle open down to the bone.

The raw concrete scraped against his skin as he skidded forwards, a fresh wave of agony pouring over him.

He choked back a cry of pain as Tarkus slowly strode closer. 

“Pathetic.” Tarkus grinned, lifting his kagune high for the killing blow.

Jonathan twisted aside with the very last of his strength.

Tarkus’ kagune slammed into rusted metal, smashing it to bits, sending shards flying into Jonathan’s side. (Oh god it hurt, it hurt-)

The pulley was shattered, the rope loose, the pallet of I-beams free to fall.

Jonathan went limp, utterly spent, as black spots danced in front of his vision and his adrenaline faded. 

He heard the faint rumbles of Tarkus’ voice, before feeling the rush of air as a massive weight descended upon them both.

A horrifying cacophony of cracks and squelches. Bone shattered, organs ruptured, blood painting everything red.

Jonathan sank into a comforting blanket of numbness, his last thought before slipping under being that at least Tarkus wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dio is well, Dio, Speedwagon is concerned, Jonathan starts to realize what's going on, and Dire is the local campus cryptid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential tw for discussions of characters having issues with eating, though for supernatural reasons.

Everything hurts.

Jonathan can hear a faint beeping noise echoing around. A voice. (They’re angry. Frustrated.) A different voice. (Worried?)

“He’s… ...check…”

“I think… ...moving…”

“...Jonathan?”

A faint touch on his hand. “Jonathan, are you awake?”

...He knows that voice. It’s a struggle to crack his eyes open, but the room slowly comes into focus and he can see two blond figures standing over him- One right at his side, one a little further out.

Speedwagon and Dio are here. The faint beeping is a heart monitor. It’s Speedwagon’s hand he can feel on his. (It feels safe.)

He closes his eyes again.

“Jonathan-”

“Let him rest.”

When he next wakes up, everything is a little clearer. He’s in a hospital room, hooked up to an IV, but the heart monitor from earlier is absent. It’s quieter and dimmer too.

Dio’s sitting off to the side, a textbook open on his lap, fully engrossed in his work.

“Dio?” 

Dio looked up, calmly closing the textbook and tucking away his notes. “You’re finally properly awake now?”

“Mhm.” Jonathan ran a hand through his hair as Dio moved his chair closer to his bedside. “How long has it been?”

“Just over a full 24 hours.” Dio responded. “Do you have any idea how close you came to dying? According to the doctors, you were incredibly lucky in where, precisely, the beams fell on you.” 

Dio gave him a stern look. “Even then, you would have assuredly bled out had I not noticed your failure to pick up my texts and been in the right area at the right time to find you, with the help of that gutter rat you insist on keeping around.”

“Dio, please be nice to Speedwagon-”

“I had to put up with him for hours.”

Jonathan sighed. “How bad was it? I can tell you haven’t slept much.”

Dio pointedly looked away. “You very nearly died, Jonathan. Tarkus did die. The doctor had to perform an emergency organ transplant from him to you- he’s under legal heat for that now, but given that he undoubtedly saved your life in doing so, Father is ensuring he’ll be well defended.”

Jonathan pushed himself up on his elbows, slowly sitting up. “That’s good, I guess.” He sighed. “I suppose you’ll be disappointed to not have all of Father’s attention for now, hm?”

“How stupid are you!” Dio snapped. “You went somewhere hilariously unsafe, late at night, without telling anyone where you were going, with Tarkus, of all people- are you remotely aware of any of the rumors about him?”

“I’m sorry I don’t know everything everyone’s doing on this campus like you do!” Jonathan retorted.

“Do you have any idea what it looked like when we found you!” Dio yelled. “You were completely buried! Tarkus was completely crushed! What do you think me and Speedwagon thought when we saw your phone abandoned near a bloodied pile of rubble!” Dio’s voice started to tremble. “There was blood splattered everywhere! We thought you were dead! I-” He abruptly cut himself off, shoving his books into his bag.

“Dio-”

He stormed out of the room, expression schooled into stony indifference.

And Jonathan was alone again. 

The nurses did come back after not too long. Jonathan was told again that he was remarkably lucky, that most of the debris fell around him rather than on him, and that he was healing remarkably well from what injuries he did have.

He could feel a pair of thick wiry scars under his shoulder blades pulling when he sat up. He ran his hands over his torso, finding a number of other smaller scars. 

He didn’t check his legs, but he could feel one on his arm where Tarkus had sliced it open- seeming remarkably well healed given how little time it had been.

They told him he should be able to leave relatively soon, within the week in fact, as long as he took care not to exert himself going forward.

(He supposed that he was definitely off of the football team then.)

They finally brought him a small sandwich and some chips before leaving him alone once again.

After they left, Jonathan turned the TV onto a news channel so the hospital room would feel a little less empty.

He picked up the sandwich and went to take a bite-

-he spat it out immediately. It tasted awful- the only thing that he could remember that came even close was the smell of some leftovers he’d left in the back of the fridge by mistake that had stayed there for months. (Father had thoroughly chewed him out for that.) Somehow, it tasted even worse than that.

...Was it rotten somehow? He carefully peeled off the top layer of bread, sniffing the sandwich carefully. It smelled fine- more than fine actually.

It still didn’t seem remotely appetizing though, and he wasn’t eager to taste that again.

Well. He supposed that maybe some of the medicine he was on might suppress his appetite, or mess with his sense of taste.

Nothing to be worried about.

Right?

Jonathan was sitting around, flipping through channels, when he heard a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Speedwagon burst through the door. “Jonathan! You’re awake! Dio wouldn’t tell me any of what happened after I left except that you’d woken up, I was so worried-” He hurried over to sit down on the chair next to Jonathan’s bed.

Jonathan chucked. “Of course. It’s always a pleasure to see you Robert.”

“Anyways!” Speedwagon continued. “My mates Tattoo and K.M. helped me find all your classes and round up some notes from your classmates, and Dio gave me your phone to bring to you.” He passed Jonathan’s phone to him. “Left most of the work back at your place, make sure you actually rest.” 

“Robert, I really don’t want to fall behind-”

“No, nope, none of that. You’re going to rest and you will like it.” Speedwagon reached into his bag again. “Also! I figured the hospital food probably isn’t real good, so I grabbed your favorite sandwich from Bread Zeppelin for you.”

Jonathan can smell the aroma of roast beef wafting through the room as soon as Speedwagon unzips the bag, and yet…

“I’m afraid I’m not hungry yet Robert.”

“Huh?” Speedwagon pauses. “You always have a huge appetite though, and I don’t imagine that they’re giving you especially large meals here. Or especially good ones for that matter.”

“Don’t worry, just eat it yourself.”

Speedwagon looked concerned, but eventually sighed, leaning back. “Anyways, you remember that guy Dire who went around intimidating the freshmen with martial arts tricks during orientation? Lemme tell you what he did yesterday…”

It was about a week till Jonathan was finally let out. He wasn’t looking forward to the amount of work he’d have to catch up on- no matter how much his professors reassured him that they’d extend all the deadlines, he still couldn’t stop thinking about how much extra work it would be to get caught up.

He still felt like something was wrong.

Speedwagon was right in that it was unusual for him to ever turn down food- but nothing had seemed appetizing. He’d barely eaten anything, and what little he had eaten had all tasted horrific.

And yet, he was barely hungry. 

It had to be something to do with the medicines, right? Or the hospital food. (He pointedly ignored the fact that none of the snacks Speedwagon had brought him appealed to him either- though he’d pretended they did, tucking them away for later, so Speedwagon wouldn’t worry.)

Finally, back home. Dio had emptied the fridge while he was gone so nothing would spoil, so he should probably go shopping.

(He was barely hungry, hadn’t been hungry at all for days, something had to be wrong...)

The walk to the local grocery store went without incident. 

So much had happened, and yet Wegmans Groceries was the same as it ever was. He bought the typical groceries for a week- supplies to make pasta, couple bags of beef jerky, sandwich supplies- 

Normally, he’d never be able to resist the deli counter, and he’d always end up ordering a sandwich to eat as he shopped. He could smell the meats from across the store, and yet, the thought of getting something to eat didn’t appeal at all.

...Probably fine. (No, it’s not.)

He brushed it off to continue shopping.

Finally, he grabbed a couple of energy drinks and some coffee beans, he’d need them to make up all the work he was behind on.

He was most of the way back to campus when he smelled something… good? It smelled delicious. He really was hungry, now that he could smell something he actually wanted…

It was coming from over by the skate park- maybe there was a food truck over there or something? It just smelled so good… 

Like a perfectly cooked burger at a family cook-off, like the roast beef from the one restaurant back home he loved so much. Now that he actually felt hungry, he just had to get something to eat.

He walked into the skate park. Looking around, he couldn’t see much of anything happening, just Dire helping patch up a freshman who’d smashed their knee into the pavement. 

What was he smelling then-

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

Blood.

He could smell the blood, the freshman bleeding onto the pavement.  
It smelled so, so good.

Dio had said they’d done an organ transplant from Tarkus to him.

Tarkus had been a ghoul.

…

Jonathan sprinted out.

He barely registered how he’d gotten back to the apartment, slamming and locking the door behind him.

All he could think about was that he must be a ghoul now. 

(Monster.)

It all made too much sense. 

Why he wasn’t hungry at first. (Ghouls could go longer without eating than humans can.)

Why he could smell everything so well, but it still tasted rotten. (Ghouls have heightened senses. Ghouls can’t eat human food.)

Why it seemed like his wounds were healing so fast. (Ghouls healed at a superhuman rate.)

He bent over the bathroom sink, splashing water on his face, hoping that somehow this wasn’t real, somehow he wouldn’t have to- wouldn’t have to face this.

Wouldn’t have to face the fact that he might be a ghoul.

He took a deep breath, trying to push down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him.

His left eye stared back solid black, a circle of red for an iris the only splash of color.

Exactly like Tarkus’s eyes had been before he’d attacked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan does some research, and William's backstory is probably much closer to cannon than in your standard college AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential tws for more discussion of characters not eating for supernatural reasons. Nothing else of note this chapter I don't think.

He’s a ghoul now. 

Probably not fully- Only one of his eyes has the distinctive red and black coloring of a ghoul's, so maybe the… transformation, of sorts, is only partial.

Tarkus seemed to be able to control when his eyes did whatever this is, and Jonathan certainly cannot, so there must be some differences.

He’ll need to find a way to hide his eye.

He’ll also need to find something he can eat- given that he’s only partially ghoul, there must be some other food he can eat, right?

He puts together a quick plan- step one, buy an eyepatch. He doesn’t have the slightest idea as to how to stop doing the eye thing, so he’ll need a way to hide it.

Step two is research. He doubts that there would be all that much about anything other than how to kill ghouls available, but he’d still like to gather as much information as possible. (And besides, he certainly wouldn’t mind an excuse to spend a day in the library.)

Finally, he’ll need to experiment to try and find a food he can eat. Given how revolting all his usual favorites had seemed, he’s not looking forward to this step at all. He can make some educated guesses as to what might work- different kinds of meat would probably be a good place to start. He’s heard of pigs being similar to humans for research purposes, perhaps pork could work, at least in his unique circumstances.

First things first, he needs to get an eyepatch. There’s got to be something he can use to hide his eyes long enough to buy it. He rummages around the apartment for a while, finding a pair of sunglasses buried in one of the cabinets, and then slips them on so he can head out to CVS.

Once at the store, he grabs a simple medical eyepatch. It's a reusable one in case he doesn’t figure out how to hide this for a while, and he also buys a box of tic tacs. The small candies are essentially pure sugar, so they’re probably a good food to try first.

He then returns to his apartment and puts on the eyepatch, checking his reflection in the mirror.

The ghoul eye is fully hidden.

Come to think of it, how is he going to explain the eyepatch?

...He’ll figure something out when it comes up.

* * *

The library was always one of Jonathan’s favorite places on campus, from the very first time he saw it. It’s one of the oldest buildings there, having been expanded and renovated many times, but the whole thing was built around a core of the original town hall from when the city was first founded. Despite the frequent changes and expansions, the same cozy brick walls and dark brown carpet run through even the most modern additions to the building.

He walks past the check out desk, and over to the computers. A quick search looks for where books with anything to do with ghouls may be stored. 

Ah, looked like there was a whole section to do with ghoul biology over on the third floor, in one of the back corners of the building. 

(And, well, he may as well grab a couple books on ghouls throughout history to read as well while he’s here...)

* * *

Jonathan was seated in one of his favorite places in the library,curled up in an incredibly plush armchair in a nook between two towering bookshelves. It was directly underneath a small window that let in just enough natural light to give a warm feel, next to a radiator that ensured the spot was always warm, and it had a small table where he could stack all the books he’d gathered. 

He’d come here plenty of times throughout the semester. Even with all the texts available in the school’s online catalogue, there was just something special about having a physical book in his hands, the calm and quiet atmosphere of the library. He loved to just sit down with a book and for a few hours, let his mind go somewhere else, to civilizations and cultures long gone, to imagine their everyday lives instead of thinking about his own. 

He’d come here with a fairly concrete purpose, but his selection of books showed he’d drifted from it before long. After all, if there was ever a time he needed some escape from thinking about his own life, it was now.

Jonathan was dragged out of the world of the text as muffled footsteps caught his attention. He jerked his head up from the book he was reading, scanning the vicinity.

There was nobody in the aisle. He could hear the footsteps as though they were right next to him, just to the left-

He heard them stop, to be replaced by someone mumbling to themselves in a thick accent.

Jonathan pulled a book out from the shelf to his left, looking through to see William on the other side of the shelves, skimming through a book.

William looked up from the book to see Jonathan peering through the shelves. “Ah! Hello Jonathan! Good to see you’re alright, I heard you were in quite a nasty accident recently.”

Jonathan chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah.”

“I’ll come around over there, you look quite comfortable.” William replaced the book and walked around to the other side.

Jonathan was uncomfortably aware of William’s footsteps, able to hear them perfectly as he walked around to come into the aisle where Jonathan sat. 

As William got closer, Jonathan could even start to hear his breathing and heartbeat, the unfamiliar sensations faintly pressing against the edges of his awareness. 

William leaned on one arm against the table on which Jonathan had placed all the books he’d gathered. “Hm, Basics of Ghoul Biology, History of Ghoul Hunting, Ghouls in History, and… The Secrets of Spartan Success? Interesting selection of books there.”

“Ah, the last one there is actually really fascinating,” Jonathan started, “did you know that ancient Sparta actually recognized ghouls as full citizens? They used defeated enemies to ensure a steady food supply for their ghoul citizens, supplemented with convicted criminals and, ah, sometimes slaves. Their strength and combat capability made them highly respected as warriors.”

“Hm.” Will went quiet, an unusually somber expression falling over his face.

Jonathan waited awkwardly. Had he said something wrong?

After a long pause, William finally continued. “Any particular reason for this research into ghouls?”

“Well.” Jonathan probably should have planned an excuse in advance. “After the accident, I was fascinated by their healing capabilities. Imagine if we could make use of their enhanced abilities somehow, or find some way for them to avoid the need to eat human flesh! I imagine there wouldn’t be a need for conflict between us if that were the case.”

“Nothing good can come from that Jonathan.” William stared off down the aisle, his focus miles away. “Ghouls are monstrous creatures that would see us dead at the slightest chance, any attempt to reason with them or deal with them peacefully is doomed to failure.”

But are ghouls actually evil, or are they just forced to be?

Jonathan leaned back in his chair. “Humans have always had a tendency to demonize the other, going back to the very beginnings of known history. There’s interpretations of some of the earliest written stories, the Epics of Gilgamesh, being an allegory against local nomadic peoples.” 

Jonathan reached a hand up to his eyepatch. 

“In the end, all those supposed monsters were just people too.”

William raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps among other humans, yes, but can ghouls ever treat humans as anything else but prey? Even if they did, would people ever forgive them enough for there to be peace?”

“I’d like to think so.” Jonathan responded.

William shook his head, corners of his mustache twitching with a small smile. “If only everyone thought like you, Jonathan, the world would be a far better place.”

* * *

Jonathan excused himself shortly afterward. Entertaining diversions aside, he’d gotten about as much as he’d be able to out of the library. 

There really wasn’t much research into ghoul biology. Most of it was specifics on their rates of healing and enhanced strength, and how to fight them most effectively.

The most interesting thing he’d been able to find was a book entirely focused on one of the most distinctive organs unique to ghouls, the kakuhou. The organ produced a ghoul’s hunting weapon, the kagune, which could take one of several forms, and the organ was located differently based on the different form.

Tarkus’ Kagune seemed to have been a ukaku-type, which emerged from below the shoulder to curl around the arm into a powerful blade. They were slower than other varieties, and only usable at short range, but provided a powerful defence and an equally powerful offence if you got close enough to bring it to bear.

They emerged from right below the shoulder, the location near exactly matching the wiry surgical scars on his back. Given the placement, he’d guess that he probably ended up with Tarkus’s kakuhou. He hadn’t understood half the things he’d read about ghoul biology, but the kakuhou were central to everything that differentiated them from humans.

And now, he seemed to have a pair.

He hadn’t gotten many of the details of what exactly had happened after Dio and Robert had found him, how he was injured, what had been done to save him. He hadn’t asked, hadn’t wanted to dwell on it, and neither of them had volunteered much more than the bare minimum. 

He didn’t know much about medicine at all, but this didn’t seem like it could have happened by mistake. He didn’t want to just accuse the doctor who had saved him of doing this on purpose, even if he was ready to explain what had happened, but perhaps it’d be worth looking into. He’d have to ask Dio about it later.

* * *

As soon as he got home, he dropped his bags on the table and slumped over into his desk chair. It had been easier to ignore while he kept himself busy, but he was starting to feel hungry. Not painfully so yet, just the faint stirrings of wanting to grab something small, but if he couldn’t figure out a way to eat without hurting anyone, how long would it be before the sensation became unbearable? How long could he keep up the illusion that everything was fine once that came to pass?

He didn’t want anyone to get hurt because of him.

None of this was fair, not for anyone. Not for the ghouls who were faced with the choice of killing and eating other people or an agonizing death by starvation, not for the people who they hunted and killed, not for the ghouls who were hunted for doing what they have to in order to survive, not for the hunters themselves who put their own lives on the line constantly to try and protect people.

He curled inwards, trying to keep his breathing steady, trying to calm himself down, but he soon found himself silently crying regardless. For himself, for Tarkus, for everyone who knew Tarkus and lost a friend, for every victim eaten by ghouls, for every ghoul killed by hunters, for every hunter fallen against ghouls.

Eventually, his tears ran dry and he sat up to check his phone. Speedwagon had texted him to ask if he wanted to meet up for dinner with him tonight. Jonathan responded in the negative. He didn’t want to have to deal with pretending to eat, or with Speedwagon’s worry. 

Dio had sent him an article about the lawsuit against the doctor who had saved (cursed) him, and also insulted his judgement twelve times within four sentences. He thanked Dio despite the insults, and made a mental note to read over the article later. 

Father had sent a single concerned text, to which Jonathan responded that he was fine. (Well, as much as you could call any of this fine, but Jonathan still hoped he’d be able to figure something out on his own.)

Setting the phone down, Jonathan took stock of everything he still needed to do tonight. He had to work on his homework, and wanted to try some food while doing that. He laid out his sociology notes, grabbed his box of tic tacs, and prepared to start working on his essay.

He’d been working for a few minutes by the time he actually turned his attention to the box of tic tacs, opening it and pouring several out on the table. His sense of smell was so much sharper than it had ever been before. He could smell the intensely artificial citrusy scent of the coating, a vague plasticy scent presumably from the box itself… And it all turned his stomach, driving away the hunger he was starting to feel.

He tossed several in his mouth regardless, swallowing them whole to avoid the taste that had once been a sweet citrusy delight and now just tasted like rot and dust.

Time passed as he continued trying to draft his essay. He kept eating the tic tacs as time went onwards, as unappetizing as they were, he was still hungry.

After about an hour, he had to stop. His stomach cramped painfully, he couldn’t focus, he was struggling to choke back the rising nausea, he couldn’t force himself to keep working. He’d only eaten half the box, it wasn’t nearly nauseating enough to actually make him throw up, but it still hurt. 

So pure sugar definitely wasn’t a safe food option then, as the dull pain still spreading through his stomach could attest to. Maybe it actually had something to do with the tic tac’s coating? Maybe if he just took a handful of sugar and ate it, he would be fine.

He didn’t want to test that anytime soon if it would be anything like this. Still, he’d have to. He’d have to keep testing foods until either he found something that worked, or…

...He’d cross that bridge if (when) it came to that.

But if it came down to the only way to feed himself being to hurt someone else…

He just didn’t want to hurt anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna see more archeology nerd Jonathan. It's very sweet, there's so much marine biology nerd Jotaro stuff, I wanna see Jonathan geeking out over his major too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan continues Not Having A Good Time and Dio and Speedwagon are starting to catch on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential cws for this chapter: emeto and potential ed triggering stuff is present this chapter- the former is only from an outside perspective and the latter is all supernatural reasons, but it's present nonetheless.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's commented thus far- This work has gotten a lot of comments and engagement compared to a lot of my others it seems and that really helps motivate me, heh.
> 
> Also, if any of you are looking for more Tokyo Ghoul/JJBA stuff, dogb.ite on instagram did art for Kakyoin and pt2 Joseph as ghouls!

Early next morning, Jonathan is barely dressed by the time his phone buzzes with a text from Dio.

Brother: I’m coming over. I’m bringing some food for you since I wouldn’t be surprised if you forgot to restock your kitchen properly since getting out of the hospital.

Dio’s his brother, and Jonathan loves him dearly. But. Dio has never made caring about him easy, and Jonathan doesn’t want to deal with that right now. Never mind that Dio is scarily good at reading and manipulating people, and Jonathan certainly doesn’t want Dio figuring out what’s going on with the whole ghoul thing before he’s ready to tell him.

He can’t even avoid Dio either. Dio knows he doesn’t have any classes until after noon today and if he leaves and has Dio just drop everything off at his dorm, Dio would only be more suspicious that something was going on. He’d end up hounding Jonathan relentlessly until either he figured it out or Jonathan caved and told him.

Jonathan’s still debating his options when a knock sounds from the door. “I’m coming!” He scrambles to pull his eyepatch on before opening the door, to reveal Dio standing in the hall outside his apartment with a pair of grocery bags.

Dio takes one look at him before asking, “What happened to your eye?” Without waiting for a response, he walks straight into the apartment to set down his bags.

“Ah, it turns out something got into it after the beams fell and scratched it up- It’ll clear up soon enough, the eyepatch is just to keep it safe and keep from straining it.” Lies. Total lies. He really hopes it actually made sense as an explanation, but hopefully Dio doesn’t actually know enough to call Jonathan’s bluff.

Dio hums suspiciously as he turns around, pulling a chocolate bar out of one of the bags. He tosses it at Jonathan, Jonathan barely catching it before it hits him. “Father insisted you deserve something nice after the accident.” 

(Also likely a lie, Father wouldn’t bother pushing Dio on something like that.)

“Aw, thanks!” He smiles, much to Dio’s annoyance.

Dio huffs, starting to put away some of the other groceries he’d brought. Jonathan sees his favorite brands of candy, a couple microwave meals, and few things he’s sure he hadn’t ever told Dio he liked.

Jonathan goes to open the chocolate bar while Dio puts stuff away, only to freeze. Right. He can’t eat this. He can’t eat any of this. He won’t be able to eat his favorite ice cream, won’t be able to enjoy a steak or a BLT or really any food at all.

He tucks the chocolate bar away in one of the drawers. He’ll… He can’t even just give it to Speedwagon, he’d worry. 

Dio cocks a single eyebrow. “Learned some self-restraint with regards to chocolate? I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you not immediately gorge yourself when I get you that brand.” He stares at Jonathan.

Jonathan twitches anxiously.

“Hm.” Dio drops the subject, crumpling up the now-empty plastic bags that once held groceries. “Any idea how long the eyepatch will be staying?”

Well, that depends on how long it takes him to actually understand what’s happening to him and how to control it. “No.”

Dio’s definitely suspicious of something, but Jonathan was never able to tell exactly what he’s planning. He just hopes that whatever it is, Dio won’t end up bothering him too much.

* * *

The day's classes were essentially the same as always. The only event of note was that math hadn’t made much sense given the material he was missing. The professor had told him to focus on catching up instead of attending class, but Jonathan sees no reason why he can’t at least try to do both.

Now, getting back from class on the other hand...

Dire had seen him heading back to his dorm and tried to talk to him, but Jonathan had smelt the blood from somebody’s scraped knee, could smell the sweat and iron and flesh, and it smelled so appetizing.

He hates it. He hated that his first response was to think that Dire smelled appetizing, smelled like food. Dire had just kept talking to him about some martial arts club looking for new members, how he thought Jonathan would be a great fit, and Jonathan was just so hungry, and he just wanted to get back to his apartment.

He’d ended up yelling at Dire, shouting that he wasn’t interested, he wanted to be left alone, and to please go away!

Dire had looked so taken aback. He didn’t deserve to be yelled at, but Jonathan had just been _so_ frustrated. He doesn’t want to go out to try and find him and apologize in person, but Dire deserves an apology.

He texts William, asking for Dire’s number. Tells Will he’d been in a bad mood and snapped at Dire and wanted to apologize. William sent the number back pretty much immediately, reassuring Jonathan that Dire almost certainly isn’t mad, that it’s fine, that everyone has their bad days.

But.

Jonathan’s supposed to be better than this. He's supposed to be the perfect gentleman, the one who always makes sure everyone else is okay, who keeps his calm in every situation, who’s always ready to help anyone. He hates being angry, hates that he could have upset someone.

Hates that he might end up hurting someone.

He’s just so hungry. It’s hard not to snap at people when he’s constantly hungry, constantly worried that he’ll end up hurting someone, constantly stressed that there may be no way to fix this, that he’ll have to kill someone or starve.

He just wants everything to go back to normal.

As soon as he gets back to the apartment, Jonathan drops his bags and sighs. He’s tired. And hungry. And cranky, presumably because he’s hungry. 

Jonathan goes back to the kitchen, pulling out the chocolate bar Dio had bought for him.

He can feel the urge to cry welling up in his throat, and he pushes it back down. (He just wants one good thing! One good thing that he won’t have to fear losing because of this! He just wants to be able to eat his favorite foods! To play sports! To talk to his friends without being scared he’ll end up hurting them sooner or later! To be able to walk around without seeing someone as little more than a meal for a split second!)

Jonathan unwraps the chocolate bar. It doesn’t smell like much, just chocolate. And yet it doesn’t appeal to him at all. It’s the same smell as it ever was, and yet it makes him gag as he brings it into his mouth.

(Everything feels so wrong and alien.)

It tastes like ash in his mouth.

He forces himself to chew. He gags as he tries to swallow, pressing a hand to his mouth, struggling to force it down.

It sits in his stomach like iron, or perhaps that’s just dread.

He just wants to be able to eat. (For things to be normal again.)

He bites down again, snapping off another section of the chocolate bar, again forcing himself to swallow.

The whole bar is gone within seconds.

He’s still hungry. It didn’t do anything to help. He's still hungry and frustrated and he just wants to eat.

He opens the fridge, grabbing a kids lunchable. (Dio had bought several as a subtle jab at his maturity.) He tears the lid off of the juice box, pouring it into his mouth.

It tastes like acid and rot.

He shovels the crackers into his mouth.

The taste of dust and decay fills his mouth, he gags again as he tries to swallow, until he finally forces it down.

He crams all of the comically tiny lunch meats and cheese slices into his mouth in a single handful.

The taste of sour milk fills his mouth so intensely he spits it out, despite all his efforts, falling into a round of gagging as he desperately tried to keep everything else he’d eaten down.

He’s still hungry. It’s masked by nausea, but it’s still there.

...It hurts.

He stands up, throwing out the mangled remains of the lunchable. 

...It’s probably worthless as an experiment now too. If he does get sick, it could be any of the things he ate, and he’d have to test them again separately. Not that lunchables were ever very high on his list of prospective food options, but he can hope.

His phone buzzes with a text from Speedwagon. 

Oh. 

He’d been planning on going over to Speedwagon’s dorm to get help catching up on math tonight, but he’d forgotten after bumping into Dire. 

Jonathan puts his binders back into his backpack, pulling it onto his shoulders and grabbing a flannel to protect against the evening autumn chill before heading out.

* * *

It’s a decently long walk to the dorms Speedwagon lives in. The walk to campus is already long enough, and then the dorms are on the other side of campus entirely from the direction Jonathan comes from when walking from his apartment.

He’d made it about halfway there when he started to think that this probably really was a bad idea, that he should’ve just called it off for the night, no matter how much it would make Robert worry. His stomach kept hurting more as he kept pushing himself to keep going, he felt sweaty and gross despite the chill of the evening wind, and to top it all off, none of it seemed to quell the stubborn hungry ache an inch.

Still. He does need to catch up in math, and he doesn’t want Speedwagon to worry about him either, not when he’s sure he’ll be able to handle this on his own and it’ll be just fine! (He is assuredly not sure, and despite his best efforts, can’t convince himself that it’ll be fine.)

He is fine. (No, no he isn’t.) He can do this. (Doubtful.) 

He shakes his head for a second to refocus as he approaches the entrance of Robert’s dorm.

* * *

Speedwagon’s starting to get really worried. Jonathan had been acting off ever since the accident, and well.

He’d been scared for Jonathan just seeing the aftermath. Jonathan had been in the hospital for a while, and since then-

Speedwagon hadn’t seen him eat since then. He’s pretty sure Jonathan’s been trying to hide it, but Speedwagon notices things like that. Jonathan had skipped out on their planned dinner together as well, which normally he wouldn’t miss for the world. 

And, William had mentioned seeing him with an eyepatch on. What was that about? Robert had no idea when or how _that_ had happened

To top it all off, this morning he’d gotten what was quite possibly the most ominous text he’d ever received, from Jonathan’s brother. 

(He’d exchanged numbers with Jonathan’s brother while Jonathan was in surgery, when they didn’t know if he was going to survive. Dio was an arse, but he clearly cared for Jonathan on some level- even if he was seemingly allergic to being affectionate in a way that wasn’t also simultaneously five levels of backhanded and mocking.) 

Dio had told him simply that Jonathan was ‘acting strange’ and to ‘keep a close eye on him’ while steadfastly refusing to provide any context no matter how many times Speedwagon asked.

Still, he’d get a chance to see Jonathan soon enough when he came over for math help. Speedwagon had taken the same course last year, and still had all his old notes, so of course he’d offered to help Jonathan. 

He doesn’t think it’s likely that Jonathan will admit what was bothering him tonight though, especially given that Robert’s roommate Kempo is here. He’s playing some video game or other while he waits for Tattoo to come over so they could work on a project together. 

His phone buzzes with a text from Jonathan, saying that he’d reached the dorms and needed to be let in, so Speedwagon goes downstairs to go get him.

Jonathan’s waiting for him just outside the main entrance to the dorms, smiling half-heartedly as Speedwagon opens the doors to let him in.

“You look awful.” (Robert could slap himself. Of course he blurts out the first thought that pops into his head.)

“Thanks to you too Robert.” Jonathan smiles again, a little more genuinely this time, as they go to the elevators.

Speedwagon takes the moment of waiting as they stand in the elevator to look at Jonathan a little more closely. He really does look awful. He’s wearing the eyepatch William had mentioned, of course, but that’s barely the half of it. Speedwagon is convinced Jonathan looks paler than usual, and he looks absolutely exhausted as well. Even now, Jonathan’s leaning against the wall of the elevator, his hand up to cover his already covered eye, breathing heavily like it had been a great effort to walk all the way over here.

Jonathan _was_ badly injured recently- Speedwagon doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how much blood there was, how ashen and dead Jonathan had looked when they found him, the awful stench of iron it took days to get out of his nose-

It wouldn’t be unexpected for Jonathan to be doing badly.

Robert just wishes Jonathan would let him help.

* * *

Still, Jonathan seemed as close to alright as could be expected once they settled down to do their work. He cheered up relatively quickly once he had something to focus on, and seemed just as friendly as he’d ever been once Tattoo showed up.

Eventually they ended up abandoning all pretenses of actually getting work done- though not till long after Speedwagon was feeling confident that Jonathan actually understood the math he’d been trying to explain, and Tattoo and Kempo had given up actually working on their project in favor of Tattoo listening intently as Kempo attempted to explain the video game he’d been playing every free moment over the past few weeks.

“No, no there’s someone over there!” And now Tattoo is absolutely backseat gaming to an obnoxious level.

“I already saw them.” Kempo doesn’t break focus from his furious clicking for a second, despite Tattoo’s constant gesturing.

Jonathan smiles at Tattoo’s antics, the first real, full, genuine smile Speedwagon had seen from him since he’d been injured. Jonathan’s smile is so bright, so warm, it lights up the room.

Tattoo gives Robert a knowing look as he basks in the warmth of Jonathan’s happiness.

A victory screen pops up on Kempo’s computer, and the man slides his headphones off and closes the game. “It’s getting late. I’ll order some pizza. What do you three want.”

“Just cheese.” Speedwagon replies.

“Don’t bother ordering any for me.” Tattoo adds. “My roommate’s bringing some home cooking over later tonight and I’m looking forward to it.”

“Nothing for till then?” Kempo asks.

“Nah.” Tattoo shrugs. “It’s worth waiting for. What about you Jonathan?”

Jonathan hesitates for a second, before responding, “None for me either. I’m not particularly hungry.”

Okay, that’s definitely strange. It normally seems like Jonathan’s always hungry, and he has a legendary appetite on top of that. For him to be turning down having anything at all for dinner, when Speedwagon knows he’s been here all afternoon, and hasn’t had anything to eat in that time? Something had to be wrong. Speedwagon hopes it’s just an ordinary stomach bug, or something else small that Jonathan was just trying to deny, but that wouldn’t really explain why he hadn’t eaten back at the hospital.

Kempo just shrugs, oblivious to Speedwagon’s concern, and pulls out his phone to order a pizza for himself and Speedwagon. 

After that though, despite Tattoo’s wisecracks and Speedwagon’s best efforts, Jonathan remains as uncharacteristically subdued as he’d been when he first got here.

When the pizza arrives, Kempo immediately stands up to go downstairs to get it, Tattoo darting after him- though not before throwing a wink at Speedwagon as he slipped out the door.

He’d only have a few minutes alone with Jonathan. “Hey, Jonathan?”

“Mm?” Jonathan jerks up from staring blankly at the wall opposite him. 

“Y’alright? You’ve been acting off lately.”

Jonathan sighs. “It’s nothing Robert, I’m fine.” He’s absolutely lying. Speedwagon’s always been uncannily good at telling when people were lying, but even then Jonathan was being painfully transparent. It’s not nothing. He’s not fine.

“What happened to your eye then?” Speedwagon prods.

“Something scratched it during… well, before you and Dio found me. They didn’t notice till later and the patch is just to make sure I don’t strain it.” That’s almost certainly pure lies. He might ask Tattoo about eye injuries later, Speedwagon’s sure Tattoo’d mentioned his roommate being a premed student

“You really sure you’re fine?” Speedwagon asks again.

“Don’t worry Robert.” Jonathan smiles. (It’s transparently fake.) “How’ve you been though? It can’t have been easy finding me like that. I know Dio was shaken, as much as he hates to admit it.”

Speedwagon doesn’t know how to even begin gathering his thoughts about that. “Mostly ‘m just worried about you.”

Jonathan’s smile falls into a pained expression for a split second. He takes a deep breath, nervously wringing his hands. “Speedwagon, I-”

“Food’s here!” Tattoo’s voice rings out through the dorm room. Kempo follows close behind, setting down a cheese pizza between the four of them. 

The mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked pizza wafts throughout the room, and Speedwagon can’t wait to take a bite. Kempo grabs a slice almost as soon as the box is set down, and Speedwagon doesn’t take much longer.

It’s absolutely delicious. Amazingly melty cheese, just enough tomato sauce for Robert’s liking, perfectly crispy thin crust. Swallowing his first bite of pizza, Speedwagon asks “You two sure you don’t want any?”

Tattoo just shakes his head. “Nah.”

Jonathan… Jonathan really looks awful. He hunches over ever so slightly, breathing heavily all of a sudden. 

Jonathan stiffens up. “Robert-” He jolts to his feet, clasping a hand over his mouth and bursts out of the room.

Speedwagon drops his slice of pizza, darting after him.

He follows Jonathan into the bathroom, coming in seconds before Jonathan drops to his knees in front of the toilet and starts retching.

Speedwagon kneels down next to Jonathan, as Jonathan continues heaving up his lunch into the toilet. “...No wonder you didn’t want to eat then.”

Jonathan weakly cracks a smile, genuine for all his exhaustion. It’s almost instantly cut off by him turning back towards the toilet for another round, gasping for air in between desperate heaves.

Speedwagon hesitantly rubs Jonathan’s back, and can feel Jonathan melting into his touch, nearly going limp.

It seemed to keep going frighteningly long, Jonathan never able to catch a break even after there was nothing left to bring up but stomach acid, as even that ran dry and he still gagged again and again at the sour scent now pervading the room.

Finally it seems to be over and Jonathan collapses bonelessly onto Speedwagon, nearly knocking Speedwagon fully onto the floor given his massive frame. (He almost feels lighter than normal though- He’d just lost a lot of water from puking though, and surely Speedwagon’s mostly imagining it?)

Speedwagon looks up to see Tattoo and Kempo peering around the door. With Jonathan now resting in Speedwagon’s lap, all the fight gone out of him, Kempo silently steps forward to flush the toilet, and opens a container of his own highly scented hair gel to try and drown out the smell of vomit.

Jonathan lurches forward for a second when the scent starts to spread, before going limp again, evidently exhausted.

Speedwagon felt a sudden surge of protectiveness seeing Jonathan like this, sweat plastering his bangs to his forehead, completely drained and clearly in an awful state, and through it all trusting Speedwagon to be someone safe to lean on.

Tattoo keeps watching as Kempo silently passes Robert their thermometer. A quick check proves that fever, at least, is not an issue. 

“It’s getting kinda late.” Tattoo said. “I gotta be heading back to my apartment soon, but, I’ve got a car, should I wait long enough so I can give Jonathan a ride home?”

“Should perhaps he stay here?” Kempo asked.

“...I want to go home.” Jonathan sounded so exhausted and defeated, Speedwagon would do damn near anything to not hear him like that ever again.

Speedwagon gently runs a hand through Jonathan’s hair. “Let’s do that then.”

* * *

Soon enough Jonathan was settled in Tattoo’s car on the way back to his apartment. He didn’t know Tattoo all that well, but he was one of Robert’s closest friends. Jonathan had seen the man around campus more than a few times, often spotting him before Robert at his side. Between his bright red hair and the vibrant blue tattoo that spread across his face like a human rorschach test, the man was hard to miss.

As the doors shut and they pulled out of the parking lot, Tattoo flickered his gaze over to Jonathan for a second. His features were painted with obvious concern, but Jonathan didn’t really have the energy to care.

He’d thought it would be fine, one evening with Speedwagon, but it’s becoming apparent that testing food is going to make it nearly impossible to get anything else done at the same time. Additionally, the heightened senses were proving a bane as much as a boon. He couldn’t help but hear countless noises from neighboring dorms through the thin walls all evening, and the harsh glare of the lighting in the main school buildings was nearly painful.

Despite all that, the intensified sense of smell was by far the worst. As soon as the pizza box had been opened there was no escape from the sour stench that turned his stomach. Every single smell is so much more intense, and so many that once were appealing are now only nauseating. Even the smells he does find appealing are almost worse- Robert and Kempo both smelled like food to him somehow, and he can’t help but be disgusted by that fact. (Tattoo, somehow, doesn’t smell this way to him- a godsend, or else the confined space of the car would have been torture.)

It’s going to be far harder than he’d thought to hide this.

Was it even worth it to try? If the wrong person found out that he was a ghoul the CCG would be after him, he couldn’t give up altogether, but maybe he should tell _someone_ at very least. William certainly wouldn’t respond well, based on what he’d said back at the library about ghouls, even disregarding the fact that the man was in training to become a ghoul hunter himself. Dio, well. He’s Jonathan’s brother, Jonathan cares about him, and knows that as much as he refuses to admit it, Dio cares about him too, but he doesn’t exactly feel comfortable trusting Dio with this. That just leaves Robert.

There wasn’t much Robert could possibly do that Jonathan wasn’t doing already, but just having someone who knows what’s going on...

Tattoo taps his fingers on the steering wheel as they pull into a stoplight. “Hey.”

Jonathan breaks from his thoughts to look up at Tattoo.

“You, uh. You want to come over for dinner with me and my roommate? It’ll be fine food for us, don’t worry. She’s one of us too. Big on ethical meat too. If, uh, that’s why you’re not eating.”

Jonathan only half processed what Tattoo was saying, as tired as he is, but he knows that there’s no way for him to eat now. He simply declines with an exhausted shake of the head.

“...Alright then.” Tattoo turns his focus back to the road. “Just… take care of yourself, alright? Make sure you eat enough.”

Jonathan wishes he could.

* * *

Dio glares at the single useful text staring back at him from after a wall of pleas to explain himself further.

Brother’s Idiot Pet Rat: Okay, you were right. Something’s definitely wrong.

Dio pulls up Bruford’s number. If Jonathan is unwilling to tell him what’s going on, he’ll figure it out himself.

* * *

Jonathan drops his bags as soon as he gets back to his apartment, sliding off his shoes before just collapsing on his bed.

He’s so tired.

Wait.

Wait a minute.

His essay.

Oh no.

It’s due tomorrow. He’d forgotten about it in all the hassle.

Jonathan shoots up, revitalized by the adrenaline running through his system. He walks to the kitchen almost on autopilot, grabbing a bag of coffee grounds and tearing it open and then-

The aroma of coffee fills the room, just the same as Jonathan had always remembered it, if not better. It actually smells appetizing, rich and potent and for a second, the ache of hunger abates.

Maybe, just maybe, things aren’t so hopeless after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Dio actually has Speedwagon saved as that on his phone. And bought Jonathan kiddie meals as a jab at his maturity.  
> ...I think I'm very funny.
> 
> This chapter somehow simultaneously ended up being longer and covering less plot than I expected. Whoops. Gotta have that good buildup I suppose.
> 
> We should finally be getting to some exciting action next chapter though!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always darkest before the dawn- Part 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw for this chapter- the emeto and potential ed-but-for-supernatural-reasons is very much present in this chapter, especially in the part from Jonathan's perspective.

Given... recent events, Speedwagon wasn’t expecting to see Jonathan at all the next day. 

And yet, somehow, that’s unmistakably Jonathan in the throng of students heading down the main walkway- no one else on campus is that tall. (Save a few of the basketball players, none of whom are nearly as broadly built.) He’s pretty sure nobody else has quite the same rich blue hair as Jonathan either.

He can’t really stop and talk to Jonathan now, given that he has a class to get to, but worry twines around his heart like choking vines and he knows he won’t be able to focus in class if he doesn’t at least do something. He shoves his way past several other students, running up the hill that the literature department is atop, swiveling around to try and get a better look at Jonathan through the crowd. 

He’s still wearing the same eyepatch, he still looks worn thin in a way Robert can’t quite place but which worries him horribly all the same. In spite of all that, he does look infinitely better than he had the night before, standing tall with a smile on his face and a cup of coffee in hand.

It’s not enough to allay Robert’s fears, but it’ll have to do- he still has to get to class.

* * *

Normally, Robert would be cursing the fact that his first year writing course was cancelled for the day. He’d taken the course second semester his actual freshman year, and ended up failing- alongside half his class- due to an absolutely awful teacher. Even with a half-decent teacher he was still struggling, and a canceled class certainly wouldn’t help.

On the other hand.

He knows Jonathan has his lunch break around now, during the same time Robert would normally be in that class. After last night and this morning and everything else that went down recently, he’s very much desperate for a chance to check in on Jonathan.

He texts Jonathan, telling him his writing class was cancelled and asking if they could meet up at Bread Zeppelin. He starts heading that way himself without waiting for a response. (He’s got enough money to afford to go there an extra time this week- Dio had tried to bribe him to look after Jonathan, which, well, he was going to do anyway, but he needed the cash.)

He could see the ‘typing’ indicator pop up and vanish several times, Jonathan writing out and then promptly deleting something over and over, before finally receiving a simple “Alright! :)”

As per usual, Robert arrives there long before Jonathan. He checks his phone again to see if Dio had sent him any further information, but as expected, Dio hadn’t suddenly decided to be helpful while Robert was in class. Tattoo had texted him, expressing concern for Jonathan, but also telling Robert to be careful around him for some reason- which frankly didn’t make much sense. Jonathan may be built like a brick wall, and may have the approximate physique of a cartoon superhero, but he’s as gentle as they come. (Most of the time- Apparently he’d once thrown Dio down a flight of stairs, though neither had shared the context, and Robert was certain Dio had done _something_ to deserve it.)

Tattoo’s warning isn’t exactly out of character though- he is unusually protective of him and Kempo sometimes. Occasionally he’ll tell them to avoid certain people, and usually Speedwagon agrees with his judgement. He’d agreed with Tattoo’s judgement that Tarkus was bad news, that his friend Bruford was probably also best avoided, but thinking Jonathan a potential threat? Jonathan wouldn’t hurt anyone unless they thoroughly deserved it, or maybe if it was life or death.

He’s still contemplating what exactly about Jonathan made Tattoo so hesitant, (Jonathan _did_ smell subtly different recently, but that could mean any number of things,) when a voice called his name.

“Robert!” Jonathan smiles, the same warm smile that always warmed the entire room by his mere presence.

Speedwagon could feel his mood lifting just from being around Jonathan when he himself is clearly in high spirits, and seeming so much better than he has lately. “Jonathan! Real pleasure to see you looking well.”

“Ah, well.” Jonathan sits down next to Robert, somewhat awkwardly. “I… figured something out that ended up really helping.”

“...Helping with what?” (Maybe he’ll finally tell Speedwagon what exactly is going on.)

Jonathan brings a hand up to his covered eye, a motion Speedwagon is sure he’s seen Jonathan do before. “I. It’s… A lot to explain.”

Jonathan begins to curl his fingers as though to claw at his covered eye, and Robert reaches out, gently taking Jonathan’s wrist to pull his hand down before he can do any harm. “Hey, I’ll still be here for you no matter what, alright? You’re my best friend Jonathan, no matter what this is I’m not going to leave you.”

Jonathan stares down at the table, mumbling something nearly indecipherable.

“Jonathan?”

Jonathan jerks his head up to look at Robert, the faintest echoes of a pained expression quickly smoothed over. “I. Ah. I’m going to go order for us, do you want your usual; yes? I’ll get that.” He jerked upright, nearly knocking the chair over in the process, yanking his hand away from Robert and going to the counter to order.

...That’s not remotely encouraging. Speedwagon is just getting more and more worried by the day. What’s going on? Something is clearly wrong, that much is obvious, but is it physical? Mental? Is it related to the accident or something else entirely? What is he supposed to do about it, when he doesn’t even know what it is? Should he try to get Jonathan some of his favorite foods? Push him to eat something? Have Dio tell the doctors? Is it related to the eyepatch or is that a separate issue entirely?

Without even the slightest clue of what’s going on, it seems that all Robert can even do now is wait and hope. Hope that Jonathan gives him some idea what’s going on, and hope that it’s something he can help with.

Jonathan soon returns, carrying a tomato grilled cheese and small basket of fries for Speedwagon, and simply a large coffee for himself. He smiles as he passes Robert his food, but there’s no real happiness behind it.

Something else is bothering Speedwagon too- Jonathan’s mug of coffee is black. Not a hint of cream, no sugar packets with him, none of the whipped cream or marshmallows he unfailingly gets on the rare occasions he gets coffee here.

Jonathan normally despises black coffee, claims he can’t drink it plain, always ends up dumping in ungodly amounts of cream and sugar. He’ll add whipped cream, marshmallows, and ludicrous quantities of chocolate as well whenever given the chance.

And yet, as Speedwagon carefully watches Jonathan throughout the meal, he drinks the coffee without a hint of disgust. Instead of seeming hyped up and energetic as he finishes the cup, Jonathan just seems relaxed, a tension that had rested in his form since he’d arrived slowly melting away.

For the rest of lunch, Robert doesn’t bother pushing Jonathan on what’s happening- it’s clear that Jonathan is trying his best to figure out how to say it and work up the courage, and Speedwagon isn’t going to put more pressure on him when something is so clearly wrong.

Still, he can’t help feeling disappointed when Jonathan doesn’t bring up what’s wrong once throughout the entire rest of the meal.

* * *

Dio is going to get to the bottom of this, no matter what. 

Speedwagon, as annoying as the man is, can be trusted (at least as far as Dio trusts anyone) to keep an eye on Jonathan, which leaves the investigative side of things to Dio himself.

At present, it seems that Jonathan isn’t keen on opening up about anything going on, and Dio doesn’t relish the idea of having to deal with the legal nonsense that would no doubt unfurl if he were to pursue investigations with the doctors first, which leaves only one convenient avenue of inquiry.

That line of inquiry being to figure out exactly what Tarkus had been doing. Dio doubts that he’ll find many answers this way, but it’ll be far easier than his other potential leads to follow, so he won’t waste much time when it turns out to be a dead end. (And if it doesn’t, then he’s avoided a lot of hassle.)

That’s the reasoning behind him joining with several other members of the football team on their plans to help cheer up Bruford after Tarkus’ death. If anyone would know what Tarkus was doing, it would be Bruford- the two are well known to have been very close friends, and nearly inseparable. Dio volunteered to help distract Bruford while the others did… Something. (He hadn’t really listened to the details.) They’re planning some kind of surprise, but all that’s relevant for him is getting a chance to figure out what precisely happened to Jonathan.

They’d told him where Bruford was likely to be at this time- leaving an evening class in the mathematics building- and simply told him to delay Bruford heading back to his dorms by at least ten minutes, which Dio certainly can do.

He leans near the door of the mathematics building, idly checking his phone. Speedwagon had texted him several times throughout the day, both asking for further information on Dio’s suspicions, and also mentioning some uncharacteristic behavior- apparently Jonathan hadn’t had anything for lunch aside from a large mug of black coffee, which given Jonathan’s frankly ridiculous appetite and sweet tooth, raises a number of suspicions. Still, that can wait for later. Dio tucks his phone away as he sees Bruford exiting the building.

He walks up beside Bruford. “Hello.”

Bruford swivels around to face him. “Dio, is it?” His gaze scans Dio critically. “You’re a member of the football team, right? Tarkus mentioned you and your brother as being some of the most promising recruits in your year.”

Dio nods. “Yes. Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about some things along those lines.”

“Were you.” Bruford starts walking, Dio striding up alongside him. “What precisely did you want to ask then?”

“I have some suspicions regarding the incident that happened to Tarkus and Jonathan- I know you and Tarkus were close, and was simply wondering if you might know anything about what happened.”

“Hm.” Bruford continues staring straight ahead for several seconds. “I might want some time to consolidate my thoughts on the matter. Could we perhaps meet up off campus this weekend? I know a coffee shop near enough to the area of the incident, we could meet there. Perhaps you’d find some answers at the location itself.”

Dio nods, slowing to a stop and pulling out his phone to check his schedule. Soon, Dio and Bruford agree on a time Saturday morning to meet up.

Dio keeps him with some banal smalltalk long enough for the rest of the team to finish whatever they’re planning. (He does still need to delay Bruford- an owed favor from the other members of the football team can always come in handy.)

Dio’s phone buzzes with a text from one of the other players, letting him know that they’re set.

“I’ll see you Saturday then?” Dio says.

“Saturday.” Bruford nods stiffly before walking off.

* * *

Okay, so Speedwagon hadn’t really expected that things would suddenly get better later in the week.

Still. He had at least hoped that Jonathan would’ve told him what was up, but no such luck. Jonathan had come to their normal Thursday meeting at Bread Zeppelin earlier today, but just like earlier he’d ordered a black coffee and nothing else.

Speedwagon knows something is wrong, and even if Jonathan can’t get up the courage to explain it, or to ask for help…

He has to do something.

Robert decides then, that if Jonathan doesn’t at least give him some clue what’s going on, how to help, he’ll show up at his apartment on Friday evening. Hopefully, maybe, just maybe, in the safety of his own place, without the pressure of upcoming classes, he’ll let Speedwagon know what’s going on. Maybe he’ll finally be able to help.

* * *

Jonathan is finally home, he’s finally done with his week's classes. Thanks to a lot of effort and the help of far, far too much coffee, he barely has any homework lined up for the weekend either.

A perfect time to try and experiment with foods.

(He’s honestly dreading this, dreading the pain that’s resulted every time he’s tried to eat since becoming part ghoul, dreading the knowledge that yet another food is now off limits, dreading the slow approach to the undeniable truth that there really is no way around this.)

He has to try. He’s got the whole afternoon and evening set aside for this, he’s worked so hard to make sure he’ll be able to test this uninterrupted, without having to worry about putting on a facade of being fine.

He has to do this now.

The first item on the list is pork, completely plain and unseasoned. He’s fairly sure it’s used as an analogue for human flesh in some instances, (okay, maybe he’s getting this entirely from the mythbusters, but they had to have gotten it from somewhere,) so it’s as good a place to start as any.

He grabs a small pork chop out of the fridge, gets his frying pan down from the rack, and has to stop himself from getting butter to melt into the pan. 

Pan seared pork chops are always a favorite of Jonathan’s, easy enough to make once he’d gotten the hang of them, they’re filling, and there’s plenty of room for him to play around with different flavors by either seasoning them in the pan or just drowning them in ketchup once cooked.

(None of that is available to him now.)

He tries to psych himself up as he waits for it to cook, tries to stifle the fear slowly strangling him from the inside. It’ll hurt, yes, but he has to do this. He has to try. (He doesn’t know what he’d do if he accepted that this is likely futile.)

Once it’s finally done he pries it off the pan, (...maybe butter was important for more than flavor) and slides it onto a plate.

(He doesn’t want to do this, he doesn’t want to be throwing up again with the awful ache reminding him of how much is barred to him now, of the ever-rising probability that there really is no way for him to eat now, not without having to hurt someone.)

He brings a small portion of it to his mouth. It tastes… it tastes tolerable, perhaps, but only compared to some of the other things he’s eaten. It still tastes like ash above all else, but the faint tinge of iron just barely present in the rarest center is nice, (if drowned out by the overwhelming taste of rot and dust,) and the texture is almost tolerable. He eats the whole thing in minutes, despite the awful taste. Coffee may suppress the ever-aching hunger enough to function, but with food in his mouth the desperation starts to take over.

In spite of the relative pleasure compared to some of the other things he’s tried eating, it’s still only a matter of minutes before the awful ache throughout his stomach returns, faster and more painful than before despite the smaller, simpler meal, and he’s forced to dash to the bathroom, the pork spilling back out in an acidic torrent.

It still hurts, still aches awfully, even after he’s brought up everything there is to throw up. The sour stench of stomach acid keeps him dry heaving until the muscles in his stomach and throat ache from the strain. Sweat stains his skin, plastering his clothes to his sides and his hair to his head. He’s on the edge of tears, the entirely undigested chunks of chewed pork stewing in the toilet bowl as a testament to the futility of the attempt. 

(Why does he have to do this, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts so much he just wants everything to go back to normal, just wants to be able to feel _full_ again, just wants to be able to relax with Robert without pretending he doesn’t notice the dozens of worried glances being shot his way, wants to be able to relax and be happy and not be constantly afraid, constantly irritable, constantly frustrated with himself for being so afraid and irritable.)

He finally manages to rise on trembling legs, flushing the toilet and washing away the nauseating acid stench. 

He can’t stop himself from crying anymore, falling back against the wall and sliding down into a sitting position, sobs ripping their way out of him with so much force it nearly sends him into another round of dry heaving. His arms wrap tight around himself as a desperate, feral urge to claw and bite and destroy rises up in him, as images of himself ripping someone apart and finally being able to eat without pain flash in his mind. 

No, no no no! He can’t stop thinking it, fantasizing about it, about just being able to finally feel okay again even if it comes at the cost of someone else’s life, and he hates it so much.

He sticks a hand in his mouth, biting down until the skin tears and parts, till the tang of blood slowly laps onto his tongue- still wrong, still tasting of rot and ash, but tolerable, edging towards almost pleasant.

Jonathan sucks on the wound for a little longer before drawing his hand out of his mouth to assess the damage, feeling utterly drained of the ability to feel anything but completely dead inside. It’s not too deep, so he slowly rises to his feet, grabbing a bandage out of the cabinet to wrap around his hand.

He stands there for a while, he couldn’t tell you how long, staring blankly at the ground, his mind drowning in a void of static.

Next task.

Steak.

He moves entirely on autopilot, save for a few conscious saves to stop himself from adding anything but the side of steak, letting his mind drift back to the exhausted static as he waits for it to cook.

It’s cooked, and once again, he moves entirely on autopilot. Soon the plate is clean. He’s crying again now, despite thinking he had no tears left to shed. It’s silent this time, tears tracing their way down his face before dripping off and pooling on the plate. He lets his mind be utterly absorbed in watching the saltwater mix with the juices of the nearly-raw steak, rather than let himself anticipate the pain he knows to be coming.

It’s worse.

It gets so, so much worse every single time.

White hot pain lances across his entire abdomen, burning, freezing, shocking, agonizing, it hurts it hurts oh god _it hurts._

He doesn’t make it to the bathroom this time, spraying undigested steak and sour stomach acid across the floor halfway there, collapsing to hands and knees. He’s desperately gasping for air between heaves as it just keeps going, on and on, the already-strained muscles pushed to their limit, the white hot pain not stopping nor lessening for a second.

(Someone’s hammering at the door.)

It hurts, it hurts so much, he’s almost convinced that this is it, that he’s somehow pushed his new ghoul physiology beyond what it can take and poisoned himself to the point of death. (At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about losing control of the ever-mounting irritable anger, the urges to destroy and eat, he wouldn’t have to worry about hurting anyone.)

(“JONATHAN!”)

He can’t stop the desperate, animalistic cry for help from spilling past his lips between heaves, as raspy and broken as it is, his throat aching and raw from the torrent of acid and constant strain.

(There’s the distinct noise of someone picking a lock.)

He doesn’t have the strength to keep heaving, he’s panting desperately for breath but it just seems to run away from him, gasping faster and faster and the white hot pain still isn’t gone, only lessened by a hair. His arms fail him and he starts to collapse forward-

(Someone’s arms stop him falling face-first into a puddle of vomit. He can’t make sense of the words, can’t process who it is running a hand through his hair so tenderly, other than that they smell like food, and he is oh so desperate to eat.)

* * *

Speedwagon _maaaaaay_ have forgotten to let Jonathan know he was coming. That might be for the better, anyways- Maybe he’d be able to catch Jonathan doing something, figure something out? He doesn’t want to invade Jonathan’s privacy, but when something is so clearly wrong, when Jonathan won’t tell him anything? He has to do something.

He’s able to slip past the front doors into the apartment building after someone else leaves, taking the elevator up to Jonathan’s floor. He can’t help but feel a sinking sense of dread- maybe he shouldn’t have come, maybe he should’ve just called Jonathan, maybe he should’ve made absolutely sure Joanthan knew he was coming, maybe he should’ve come sooner.

These thoughts carry him all the way to the door to Jonathan’s apartment, as he absent-mindedly raps his knuckles on the door.

There’s no response, not even a call that Jonathan’s coming to the door.

Robert leans an ear against the door, trying to see if he can hear anything.

Faint pained noises of desperation reach his ears, he’s suddenly aware of the faint sour stench seeping out from beneath the door.

Something’s wrong.

He pounds at the door again, yelling for Jonathan, only to be answered by a horrible scream- it’s a desperate pained cry for help, an utterly heartbreaking plea.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Speedwagon slings his backpack off of his shoulders, grabbing his lockpicks and kneeling down to start working at the door to Jonathan’s apartment. His mind is frenzied but his hands have never been steadier, as desperate as he is to reach Jonathan.

The lock clicks open.

He bursts in, the door slamming against the wall from the force with which he opened it as he scans for Jonathan.

He’s halfway to the bathroom, on hands and knees over a puddle of vomit, trembling with exertion, pale as a sheet and soaked with sweat, and rapidly starting to hyperventilate. A bandage is wrapped around one hand, both arms struggling to keep him from falling forward.

Speedwagon darts forward, catching Jonathan just as his arms go limp, dragging him away from the disgusting puddle. He runs a hand through Jonathan’s hair, struggling to stop his own breathing from spiraling away as Jonathan’s slowly retreats to a more reasonable pace.

He takes a moment to look over Jonathan more carefully-

Both eyes are uncovered, and even half-lidded as they are, he can tell something’s wrong with the one previously hidden beneath an eyepatch.

He gently, ever so gently, so scared of hurting him further, lifts Jonathan’s eyelid to get a better look.

The previously hidden eye is entirely inhuman, sclera as black as the void between the stars, the only spot of color being a blood-red iris, drawn thin by a widened pupil and exhausted terror.

The distinct eye of a ghoul, of the man-eating monsters that haunted the slums, that carried away people that nobody would miss, leaving nothing but shattered bones drained of marrow. The monsters that Speedwagon himself had lived so long in fear of, in fear of one of them carrying off him or one of his friends.

Jonathan, the sweetest, kindest, most well-meaning person he’s ever known, has the eye of the most terrifying monster to walk the earth.

His other eye is still normal though- Robert had never heard of a one-eyed ghoul, of any case where a ghoul’s distinct eyes could change one at a time.

It doesn’t make sense.

First things first. The door is still open, his lockpicking tools are still in the lock, his bag is on the floor in the hall, and there’s still a puddle of vomit just outside the bathroom.

He tries to rouse Jonathan to get him into bed, to no effect. With a sigh, he tries to rise to his feet holding Jonathan up at his side-

-And succeeds.

It’s still a massive struggle, mind you, but… It shouldn’t even be possible. Speedwagon has tried before, Jonathan is simply too heavy for him to pick up, even with great difficulty.

And yet, Speedwagon finds himself able to drag Jonathan into his bedroom, and lay him down on the bed.

Jonathan is big enough to take up most of the bed, if not for how tightly he curls into himself the minute he’s set down, clutching his stomach as though still in pain, eyebrows still tightly furrowed.

Speedwagon searches through the kitchen, noting the plates and pans scattered about, grabbing a mixing bowl to set next to the bed.

He goes through dragging everything inside and cleaning up, finally returning to Jonathan’s room to see him still curled around himself.

What on earth is happening to Jonathan? He has the eye of a ghoul, he’s far lighter than usual…

Robert rummages through Jonathan’s dresser, grabbing a soft pajama shirt. He pulls Jonathan’s sweat-soaked shirt off of him, and.

Jonathan isn’t really thin, not dangerously so, not like Speedwagon had been for so long. Still, compared to his massive frame, to his normal vast muscle and hefty bulk… the change is frightening. Some of it could just be lost muscle mass from less exercise, but combined with the fact that Speedwagon hasn’t seen him eat since the accident, it paints a frightening picture.

There’s also the ghoul eye. Robert can’t imagine Jonathan ever hurting somebody who didn’t thoroughly deserve it, he couldn’t possibly be a ghoul, couldn’t possibly have killed and eaten people before.

Maybe he’s half-ghoul somehow? Speedwagon has never heard of such a thing, but Jonathan had never mentioned his mother to Robert, and if he were half-ghoul and it was somehow activated by the accident, (maybe the faster healing of ghouls was triggered to save him somehow,) that would explain just about everything.

The rapid healing of ghouls would explain why he was out of the hospital so quick. Ghouls get sick if they eat human food, and given the plates Jonathan had left out in the kitchen, attempts to do so anyways would explain the sickness. The fact that Jonathan had been uncharacteristically snappy lately was explained by him being hungry.

If he has the same violent urges as ghouls supposedly did, that might explain why he’d been isolating himself. (After all, Jonathan would gladly let himself suffer before hurting someone innocent.) 

If Jonathan is half-ghoul, he could be dangerous, he could end up hurting someone sooner or later, he’d want Speedwagon to stop him before he did that.

But no matter what, he’s still Jonathan.

And Robert can’t bring himself to do anything to hurt him.

He sighs, texting Kempo to ask if he could bring some of Speedwagon’s pajamas over. He tells Kempo that Jonathan is sick and he’s going to stay the night to look after him.

Kempo shoots back a thumbs up, and a message that he’d come bring them over soon.

Robert slides atop the covers next to Jonathan to wait, surprised when Jonathan’s arms snake around his torso.

“...it hurts…”

God, Jonathan sounded so tired, so broken, so worn out. He wishes there was something more he could do to help, something more than just pulling Jonathan close, more than gently rubbing a hand along Jonathan’s back.

He looks over Jonathan’s bandaged hand- it’s well wrapped, and Speedwagon really doesn’t want to disturb him by checking it more thoroughly now. It can wait till morning.

Jonathan chokes out a pained whimper. “It still hurts… I’m still hungry, please,” Jonathan’s voice broke off into a hoarse sob, “I just don’t want to feel like this, I just want to feel okay again, please, I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Speedwagon’s heart breaks as Jonathan cries into his chest. He’s on the edge of tears himself, as he keeps slowly rubbing Jonathan’s back until he slips back into sleep’s comforting arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually ended up splitting my planned events for chapter 5 into two chapters because it was getting to be about the same length as last chapter while still only halfway through the planned events- So the big event bringing someone else in that I am rather looking forward to writing will have to wait till next chapter.  
> (Well, next chapter presuming I don't somehow end up with things being far longer than anticipated and end up splitting the chapter yet again, but I already have all the events for it planned out so I don't think that'll be a problem.)


End file.
